


one who sings with his tongue on fire

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Backstory, Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Gen, Gen Work, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: Nile isn't a gambling man.





	one who sings with his tongue on fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momtaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momtaku/gifts).



> This fic is for [momtaku](http://momtaku.tumblr.com), sprung from our shared love of All The Characters, and her love and fearless fight for Nile Dok. ;D I’m sorry if I butchered canon, mom, but I hope you like it. <3 I wrote this while listening to [It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) by Bob Dylan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYajHZ4QUVM) on repeat for like 4+ hours straight. >.>;
> 
> * 
> 
> _Although the masters make the rules  
>  For the wise men and the fools  
> I got nothing, Ma, to live up to._
> 
> _For them that must obey authority  
>  That they do not respect in any degree  
> Who despise their jobs, their destinies  
> Speak jealously of them that are free  
> Cultivate their flowers to be  
> Nothing more than something  
> They invest in._
> 
> —It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) by Bob Dylan

The way that Erwin Smith and Nile Dok become friends at fourteen is the same way that Nile has always been taught to make friends—a fair trade.

It’s a hot, dusty afternoon and everyone is miserable. The barracks are sweltering and stink of the vinegar they use to clean the floor, flies are buzzing as if they’re too hot to bother landing on the horses, and the horses are still as if they’re too hot to bother flicking away the flies.

It’s the downtime between classroom lessons and dinnertime, and Nile is doing his best to stay out of the sun. Erwin, a kid with a big mouth who looks like he should be in a library and not the military, is reading a book in the corner, as if he’s barely even noticed the weather. In fact, a fly has landed in his unruly blond hair, which Nile flicks off as he approaches.

“What’s that?” he asks, jutting his chin casually at the book. He’s heard Erwin talk about his wild fantasies already in the few weeks they’ve been cadets—everyone knows who Erwin is by now—although no one knows much about him besides the fact that he likes to read and talks a lot. “How’d you even get a book here?”

“In my bag,” Erwin replies, looking up to catch his eye, surprised. “I only brought one.” To be fair, the book is manageable, not thick, and it fits easily in one hand.

“You read the same book over and over?” Nile questions. This is officially the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“It’s a little different every time, depending on how you look at it.”

“You like talking in riddles, huh?” Nile questions, flicking another fly away from Erwin’s head.

“Is there anything better to do?”

Nile eyes the book; he can’t deny the fact that he’s curious. There’s something curious about Erwin overall, tall for his age, but with the type of baby face that just screams “most likely to die in a training exercise,” and Nile can’t stay away. He wants to keep talking to Erwin.

“You want to learn how to gamble?” he blurts out, the first thing that comes to mind.

Erwin’s eyebrows raise, and for a moment, Nile is expecting him to reject the offer with a scandalized cry; instead, he smiles.

“Okay.”

“But…” Nile continues, pointing at the book, “only if I can borrow that.”

Erwin hesitates, looking back and forth between the book and Nile. “I won’t lose it,” Nile reassures him. He can’t blame a guy for being protective over personal property if you have any, especially as a trainee in the barracks.

“It was my father’s,” Erwin offers, his voice much more careful now, and he assesses Nile with two keen bright blue eyes. It’s akin to suddenly being under a magnifying glass, and Nile can’t resist the urge to take a step back. “You really won’t lose it?” he questions.

“No, I won’t lose it.” Nile promises himself that he won’t lose it, suddenly nervous about it, since it’s a pretty serious promise now.

Erwin studies him for a moment, but then stands up, brushing off his pants. “So, how do you gamble without cards?”

Nile laughs, clapping Erwin on the shoulder and slipping the book into his pocket. “You brought a book. I brought a die.”

“A single die?” Erwin sounds intrigued. Nile rifles around in his bunk, searching for the small object he’d smuggled away in his bag until his fingers land on it.

Erwin follows him outside where they settle in the shade of the supply shed. It’s situated between the mess hall and barracks, providing enough privacy that they won’t be caught playing with dice. “I like probability games,” he remarks, watching the die intently.

“Somehow,” Nile replies, amused that Erwin would definitely fare better in a classroom than the battlefield, “that doesn’t surprise me.” He settles back against the roughhewn wooden wall, legs outstretched in front of him lazily.

“This isn’t about probability,” he explains, shaking his head at Erwin. “This is about _luck_.”

Erwin smiles with half his mouth, his eyes fixed on the die thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’m very lucky.”

“That’s the point of luck,” Nile disagrees. “You don’t know until you try.”

“Are we betting?”

“Betting what?” Nile rolls his eyes at the stupid inquiry. “Do you have any money?”

Erwin snorts.

“I’ll tell you what,” Nile offers, testing the waters of his newly forged bond, “we’ll keep a tally of who wins and loses, and when we graduate, the winner has to buy the loser a drink.”

“When we can finally drink,” Erwin reasons, chuckling a little. “And leave the barracks.”

“Yeah,” Nile nods, liking this idea more and more.

“Okay, deal,” Erwin reaches his hand out, shaking Nile’s. His grip is firm and self-assured despite his assumption he’s not lucky, and Nile immediately feels the impulse to grip back and match the strength.

“First you have to learn, though,” he says as they drop their hands. It’s not as if they’re low on time. 

*

Nile learns that Erwin’s luck may vary with dice games, but he definitely doesn’t need luck to get people to listen to him. He tells everyone and anyone who will listen in their trainee class about his ideas of what lies beyond the Walls, of finding freedom, defeating the Titans. He talks about joining the Survey Corps as if his heart beats for it.

For Nile, there was no conviction or exciting reason for joining the military. He did it because it seemed logical. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if he was successful, since his family—who lived in the outskirts of Wall Rose, not the worst, but certainly not the best accommodations—would improve their social standing.

Nile’s parents were also neither terrible nor exceptional; they were ordinary, and Nile is, too. He’s fine with this existence, and although he has goals, he certainly doesn’t expect to find fame and fortune the way some of their fellow naïve, starry-eyed trainees do.

But Erwin isn’t ordinary, and he isn’t quite starry-eyed. He’s a set of intelligent blue eyes flashing with thought and fast talking overtures about deep rivers and green landscapes beyond the Walls; he sounds like a madman, and yet, everyone still listens. 

The response from their fellow trainees, though, is split down the middle. They either can’t look away when Erwin talks, like staring at a two-headed cat in a circus; or becoming caught up in the fiery onslaught of his words and dreams.

No one Nile has ever met has been alight like Erwin Smith.

A few more people stop listening to him when he talks about the Survey Corps as a goal, rather than something to be avoided, but that year, an unprecedented amount of trainees in their class dedicate their hearts to the Survey Corps. 

But there’s something about how Erwin throws dice without hesitation, even in their child’s games from the first days of training, that makes Nile pause right before he’s ready to join the Corps. He’s not sure if he’s ready to throw his heart into the dust and hope for the best, hope that somehow he wins the day along with Erwin, whom he’s relatively sure half their classmates would willingly die for.

Later, some of them do; Nile never leaves the Walls.

*

“You wrote it down wrong.”

“I did not!” Erwin retorts indignantly, sounding young and silly for once, bending slightly to look over Nile’s shoulder where he’s sitting at the mess hall table. “It’s all there—the whole history.”

“There’s no way you beat me over the last two years.” Nile adds up their scores again on the worn, ragged lesson book they’ve used to keep track of their game on a single die.

“I _did_ ,” Erwin states, crossing his arms and straightening with a confident flash of white teeth.

He’s grown tall and broad, baby face gone, looking exactly like the type of man soldiers die for—immortal almost.

“Fine, I’ll pay,” Nile concedes, standing to roll his eyes at Erwin. “I need a drink, and you’re probably broke anyway.”

Erwin is always broke, but Nile doesn’t mind; he gets the feeling there’s a reason, and since Erwin has never spoken of any family, he lets it lie.

“For once,” Erwin says triumphantly, holding up a bag of coins, “I’m not broke.”

“Ah, first payday,” Nile acknowledges with a respectful slight smile.

Erwin hasn’t gone out on an expedition yet, nor have they talked about the fact that Nile joined the Military Police. Life has plenty of opportunity for regrets, and in the celebratory mood of the months following graduation, Nile would prefer to drink. This is also the first evening that his and Erwin’s free evenings have overlapped enough for them to actually have a proper drink; life as a soldier is just as busy and difficult as they’d been promised.

The tavern they end up in is in Karanese, some nondescript place that seems to be just loud enough to promise a good time for two recent military graduates, but is also serving liquor legally.

The interior has a low ceiling and the air smells like stale tobacco, but the bar is warm wood and neatly polished, and they have what appears to be a semi-decent selection of liquor Nile doesn’t even recognize.

“Do you like whiskey?” Erwin asks unexpectedly, turning to face Nile.

“Whiskey?”

Erwin cocks his head to the side, as if mystified by this response. Nile has some vague concept of what whiskey is, much like he knows what meat is, but only the cured and dried type; nothing like a noble would eat or drink.

“It’s on me,” Erwin offers, approaching the bar and leaning in to get the bartender’s attention.

“What?” Nile demands, outraged since they had literally spent a solid hour or more reviewing their years-long scoresheet. “I admitted you won!”

“Well, I guess you’re lucky, then,” Erwin quips. He’s in a good mood, and it’s infectious; Nile gives in without a further fight, giving a long suffering sigh.

One thing that Nile has learned about Erwin since they first became friends those first few fateful weeks as trainees is that he’s honed _charm_ sharper than even an ODM blade. People trip over themselves to listen to him and be nearby; unlike Nile, who just puts up with it.

The thing he values about Erwin isn’t his charm or intelligence; it’s his honesty.

Erwin also needs _someone_ to tell him to stop talking about Titans after a certain point.

Suddenly, Nile feels the subject of his thoughts kick him lightly under the bar, and he looks up in surprise. 

“There’s a girl,” Erwin murmurs.

“A girl?” Nile echoes, making a face. “There are lots of girls here.”

“She’s looking at us,” he explains, eyes fixed on some point just past Nile’s shoulder. 

He can’t help his curiosity, and unlike Erwin who’s good at reading people and sending specific, focused signals, he simply turns around to see without preamble.

There is a girl indeed, and she’s smiling at them.

“Do you think she’s a prostitute?” Nile murmurs. Erwin kicks him again, this time harder and as an answer.

It’s not that Nile has any particular problem with prostitutes, but it seems odd for a woman in a bar, who he notices now is alone, to be so bold without a goal.

Then again, he’s with Erwin, who usually has at least a few eyes on him upon walking into a room.

“I doubt it,” he retorts, faint amusement coloring his voice, almost sarcastic.

And just leave it to the cocky bastard to _wave_ at the girl (who happens to also be _very_ pretty) and smile; Nile stares at the floor, mortified, and suddenly feeling like he’s sixteen again.

“Let’s go talk to her.” Erwin sounds eager; he usually doesn’t have much interest in flirting or women, content to talk himself hoarse about his ideas, but this girl must have piqued his interest for some reason.

“I don’t think—”

Nile doesn’t have a chance to even start arguing as he’s tugged forward through the crowd, Erwin’s hand friendly and strong on his shoulder, until they stop at the table.

“Hello,” comes a sweet, feminine voice.

“Are these seats taken?” Erwin asks, his voice friendly, charming again.

“No,” she replies, eyes darting from Erwin to Nile and back again. “I was hoping you’d come over.”

“Why?” Nile asks bluntly, studying her. She has shiny dark hair and full lips that look very nice smiling; but what catches his attention most is the obvious intelligence shining in her eyes. 

“Why not?” she shoots back, and Erwin immediately laughs. It’s obvious he likes her, and since this is a rare enough occurrence, Nile indulges it.

“I’m Marie,” she offers, stretching her hand out to shake. “And you are?”

“Erwin, and this is Nile.” She has a surprisingly firm handshake, and they fall into easy conversation as they sit down.

“I noticed that you have the Wings of Freedom on your back,” she says to Erwin, her voice careful, but very curious. “Have you been out yet?”

“No,” Erwin replies enthusiastically, practically forgetting about his own drink. He’s started talking less about his ambitions and wild fantasies of what lies beyond the Walls since he’s been officially enrolled in the Corps as a full-fledged soldier, but given the opportunity, it almost sounds as if he’s been brimming with an opportunity. Still, his words are more carefully chosen than when they were trainees. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

She just stares at them for a moment, and then bursts out laughing; at first, and to his own surprise, Nile’s immediate urge is to defend Erwin and his madness. Nile may think that he’s completely batshit insane most of the time, but he’s a friend, and Nile defends the people whom he values.

“It’s not something to laugh about,” he retorts to her coldly, and that earns even a surprised look from Erwin. Something in his eyes shifts, assessing, cataloguing in that way Nile hates—he’s like a snake in the sun sometimes, and the worst part is that Nile doesn’t even think it’s intentional.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says hurriedly, shaking her head emphatically. She looks genuinely apologetic, a strand of dark brown hair falling over her shoulder. “I wasn’t intending to mock you. I’ve read a bit about the Walls and their history, but it’s not something many people are interested in.”

Nile starts making their wedding guest list in his head.

“I only know a little bit about it,” is what comes out of Erwin’s mouth instead, and Nile chokes on his whiskey until Erwin has to pat him on the back.

He smiles, friendly and charismatic as ever, but he talks to Marie casually about his knowledge of the Walls, only skimming the surface of his knowledge. He’s learned to be cautious, apparently.

They end up talking with her until the bar closes, and she proves to be enjoyable company—she teaches them a few dirty jokes, and they learn that her trade is actually in the Garrison laundry as a clerk, something she doesn’t want to keep doing, but doesn’t have much other choice. Erwin clearly likes her, too, even though he didn’t offer up his usual academic lecture about what lies outside the Walls.

They eventually go their separate ways, promising to meet up with her again in a week on the same evening. 

It’s cold on the street when Nile and Erwin walk out onto the street side by side. It’s quiet in the dark, empty street, companionable, but Nile can’t hold in on what’s on his mind.

“Why didn’t you talk to her about—”

“It got my father killed,” Erwin interjects bluntly, pulling his jacket closer around him as he walks, the Wings of Freedom curling more closely about his shoulders. “It occurred to me since I joined the Survey Corps that what I said to trainees can’t be repeated openly to the upper brass.”

Nile struggles to keep up with Erwin’s broad stride. The more he talks, the faster he walks, until he stops abruptly to turn with an intense gaze. “Do you know how corrupt they really are?”

Nile wants to deny it. He wants to say that, no, the Military Police is the most elite, disciplined force, the providers of law and order for the most important citizens, the king himself.

Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets, the unicorn insignia on his back feeling like a brand. “Yes.”

They stare at each other for a few more moments in the dark, unspeaking, and then both look away at the same time.

Erwin’s voice is cheerful again as he continues walking toward the barracks. “Let’s meet Marie again next week for a drink.”

“You like her?” Nile asks. 

“I think she likes you,” Erwin retorts. He has a strange little smile on his face as they part ways where the street diverges, and Nile snorts. For as smart as Erwin is, sometimes he’s an idiot. 

“See you next week.”

*

Marie is a better gambler than Erwin and Nile combined.

They learn this as they spend more and more time at the bar, and it becomes their main place of reprieve. Neither one of them talk about what’s going on in their respective branches, and although occasionally Nile will mention something, or Erwin will mention something, the bar is the sacred space made for laughing with Marie, silly tavern games, and drinking.

A year passes. Erwin starts to go on expeditions more often; he starts missing their usual evening meetings.

Nile spends more time alone with Marie, although at first he’s hesitant, thinking she’ll surely grow tired of his company without Erwin. 

He finds he likes her more with each passing day, satisfied in her company. He’s nothing like Erwin, alive and fire-tongued with interesting stories—even Erwin’s anecdotes are animated and engaging without talk of forbidden knowledge—but Nile likes hearing Marie laugh and tell stories about Garrison officials. There’s something strangely comforting about her familiarity with the military, not a complete stranger to Nile and Erwin’s way of life.

He’s not expecting to find her on a random afternoon when he walks in for a drink far too early for any respectable person to be in a bar.

“Nile?” she asks. He looks up suddenly, knowing how pale he is, and she cocks her head to the side, worry immediately clouding her face.

“Bad day,” he says simply, moving to look for the strongest liquor behind the bar.

_“Where’s Weber?” Nile had asked the soldier with whom he shared quarters in the barracks. His patrol partner had gone missing._

_“Weber was taken for interrogation by the First Interior Squad.” His fellow soldier’s face was pale and drawn, and he swallowed hard._

_“Interrogation?” Something cold had crept up Nile’s spine._

_“Heard he was leaking information.” There was a slow nod, and a deep breath. “He won’t be back, Nile, unless it’s pieces of him in the river.”_

“Bad day?” Marie’s voice breaks through his thoughts, echoing his words.

“I can’t talk about it.” He forces himself to inhale a shaky breath, and she nods knowingly; usually, when an MP says they can’t talk about something, the other person wouldn’t want to know anyway.

“Let me get you a drink,” she offers, familiar enough with the tavern bartender to filch a bottle from behind and leave a coin on the bar.

She pours them both a strong drink and they sit in silence, sipping, before she blurts out, “My father was in the Survey Corps. He died fighting for them.” Her mouth tightens, and although Nile can tell there are many more words where those came from, she doesn’t say more.

And he wants her to say more; he wants to tell her about the screams he heard when he went looking for Weber, he wants to cry into her neck and say that none of this is what he thought it’d be, that Erwin’s Titans seem almost preferable to this.

But he’s a soldier, a Military Police elite, so he remains silent.

Later, he finds out that Erwin was right: that first night, Marie was looking at Nile.

*

Years pass, and with each one, he checks for Erwin’s name on the death notice lists. They come in more frequently after Shiganshina, longer, and he checks them carefully to see if somehow, Erwin had gotten caught in the wave of refugees. Nile learns quickly how many people go missing during mass upheaval; chaos spares no one, peasant or noble. 

But the name is never there. 

Erwin doesn’t attend Nile and Marie’s wedding; he’s on an expedition, but does stop by for one afternoon to wish them well, always the same light talk he offers everyone.

Their youth fades more quickly than Nile thought possible, but he still checks the list.

*

Word travels fast that the Commander of the Survey Corps managed to lead a battalion to victory and retrieved Eren Jaeger from the Colossal Titan shifter.

And all with one arm.

Now, it appears Erwin’s already on another suicide mission.

“Erwin.” Nile’s voice is cold, suspicious.

There he is in the flesh, no right arm, looking as bright-eyed as ever, his gaze fixed on some horizon that Nile will never reach or see. He climbs into the carriage, and they drive.

They talk of child thieves and conspiracies, murder and torture; and although Nile uses words like “delusional” to describe Erwin’s interpretation of current events, he’s appreciative of the information offered to him. 

It occurs to Nile now that Erwin never had to be good at gambling, even though that’s what he does all the time. Every moment of Erwin’s life is a gamble, always throwing himself into the dirt like a scratched up die during a summer afternoon in another lifetime.

The carriage grinds to a halt, and just as quickly as they’ve met again, they part as Erwin climbs out.

But Nile follows, stepping outside the carriage and leaving the door open behind him.

“Erwin,” he says, taking a few steps forward.

Erwin turns in surprise, sleeve flapping in the wind; he hasn’t even taken the time to pin it himself, always in a rush, as if it’s not worth the effort when he might simply die tomorrow. He’s always had other things to worry about besides pretty girls in bars, weddings, children.

Nile holds out his hand, offering up a small item; it’s a bit bigger than his hand and not thick, perfect for reading incognito in between training exercises in crowded bunks.

“Here.” The book is worn, but its cover is still vivid and the ink is bright, having sat in a locked drawer on Nile’s side of the bed for years. Even Marie doesn’t know about it.

Erwin goes absolutely still, his face unreadable as he looks at Nile, down at the book, and then back up; it wouldn’t seem possible to surprise Erwin these days, but there it is.

“Thank you,” he replies finally, voice soft, accepting the book gingerly as if he’s afraid to touch it.

“Your arm is waiting for you in the afterlife,” Nile says gruffly, repeating his previous statement as he returns to the carriage. Erwin stares at him, for once seemingly at a loss for words. “Doesn’t mean you have to go meet it tomorrow, though.”

They stare at each other, and then give each other a polite nod.

“Give my regards to your wife,” Erwin says, finally walking away. Before Nile can close the carriage door, though, above the raucous yelling of more children causing trouble in the street behind them, Erwin turns again with that strange smile he sometimes wears.

“There was never any question what I’d choose.” He raises an eyebrow. “There wasn’t any question about who Marie would choose, either.”

Nile makes a dismissive sound, frowning at him, and pulls the door shut.

The stagecoach whip urges the horses forward and the carriage jolts into motion. Nile sits alone, arms crossed, scowling, and he thinks about Erwin’s words, his own life.

Every day, he wakes up and puts the kettle on for morning tea, sits with his two daughters at the table as Marie prepares breakfast. His youngest loves to read, and in evening, she sits on his lap as they read the paper together. She calls him papa, and he puts them both to bed before kissing Marie goodnight and falling asleep in her arms.

Every day, he hears reports of torture and conspiracy, social unrest and crimes against humanity; he takes orders and dispatches them, is complicit in their crimes for a home in Karanese. He checks the death lists for names and prepares for what horrors the future may unleash. 

Then, he wakes up, and does it all over again.

Sometimes, though, he dreams of a die on the ground, of cards rustling in a tavern and a woman’s laughter, of a dreamland beyond the Walls, the thud of hooves out of the gate into the open air, Erwin at the helm like a distant shimmer, fading into the horizon.

But then again, Nile Dok's never been a gambling man.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/). :D


End file.
